


Stolen

by ryukoishida



Series: Sunlight Frenzy. Endless Tales. [6]
Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5270027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Daryun, a word please.” </p><p>A gesture of his elegant fingers that signifies the dark-haired man to follow him, before he disappears behind the rows of wooden provision carts parked neatly a few feet away from the tents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen

**Author's Note:**

> It’s hard to find time to kiss during a war… haha. There’s no specific timeline since I’m too lazy to check right now, but you can view this as post-season-one. I apologize. 
> 
> Prompt: Stolen kisses in the midst of war.

“Daryun, a word please.”

 

A gesture of his elegant fingers that signifies the dark-haired man to follow him, before he disappears behind the rows of wooden provision carts parked neatly a few feet away from the tents.

 

“Make sure your men are familiar with the latest changes before we start out tomorrow morning,” Daryun reminds his group of team captains once more before he excuses himself from the knights, all of who give him a solid salute before they scatter away to talk among themselves.

 

The sun has just climbed up the horizon, washing the crisp, blue dawn sky with a hint of blushing crimson and soft orange, but Daryun and his men have been up since two hours ago as they discuss various plans to take down the Turan troops that have began surrounding Peshawar two days ago.

 

They were mid-way on their journey to liberate Ecbatana and its citizens from the Lusitanians when they received news that their northern neighbor country Turan has laid siege to the stronghold of Peshawar, and this has forced Arslan and his followers to turn back and push northward in order to defend their sole fortress.

 

Early summer lends mornings and evenings with relatively cool temperatures and soothing breezes, which makes travelling during those hours much more tolerant than during the afternoons when the brutal sun beats down on foot soldiers burdened with heavy armor and weapons.

 

Small groups of soldiers have begun to squabble with complaints, and the only reason why no major conflicts have broken out yet is because of the unyielding presence of the Marzbans, and the genuine trust and respect they have for Prince Arslan’s leadership.

 

Their first priority currently is to provide assistance for their brethren within the fortress of Peshawar, and for that to succeed, their troops will be heavily relying on Narsus’ meticulous tactics and organization, as well as the coordination between the people who lead and those who follow.

 

Regardless, at the eve of a prominent battle, everyone is restless – some chases it by engaging in physical labour, and they look for sparring partners during the little free time they have, and others merely carry on as best as they can, making jokes with comrades while secretly praying they’ll live to see another day.

 

Daryun, however, doesn’t have the leisure to do any of those things – even if, like most warriors yearning for a good fight, his hands are itching to hold a sword and the nerves within his body are wired and trembling with electricity – mostly because he’s too busy attempting to ensure that the plan will go smoothly. Preparation and management of a large number of troops can be an exhausting task, but it’s something that Daryun, as one of the Marzbans who lead thousands of soldiers into battle, the weight of their lives a solid reassurance and a consistent reminder, must do.

 

“What is it, Narsus?” Daryun starts as he rounds the corner, eyes wincing slightly as the glare of the eastern sunlight temporarily makes his vision go white. “I still need to talk to Kishward-dono about tomorrow, so I really don’t have the time to –– oi!”

 

It usually takes a lot of strength and stealth to jostle the dark-haired knight, and not many people have succeeded thus far, but whenever Narsus is in the vicinity, the vigilant iron-wall of his defense softens a little, as if his body can recognize the man’s presence and trust that he’ll never cause him harm.

 

A flash of mischievous violet before he gets pushed against the body of the cart, rusted nails digging painfully into his back through the thin layer of his shirt, but all discomfort is forgotten when he feels a warm hand cradling his jaw almost possessively, thumb tracing the strong, angular line that meets the curve of his ear before Narsus settles his palm on the nape of Daryun’s neck.

 

“N-Narsus, what in the world –– ?”

 

Bright topaz eyes blink rapidly against the glaring sunlight, and when he looks down with a perturbed frown, Narsus glances back up at him with a crooked grin, the stray locks of pale blond hair that flow over his shoulder shimmering a delicate gold as he places a finger over his mouth.

 

The dimly discordant clanking of armor and footsteps notify them that there are people nearby, but it doesn’t stop Narsus from hovering even closer, their chests flushed taut against each other – heartbeat against heartbeat – and Daryun feels his cheeks grow warm though his arms are already encircling the other man’s waist.

 

It’s a habit – a prayer that always brings him back from the bloody perils of a battlefield.

 

“You don’t want the others to hear us, right?” Narsus murmurs, warm breaths fanning over the sensitive skin directly below Daryun’s ear.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

 

His words are contradicting his actions, as he tightens his arms around the slighter man’s frame, blood thrumming through his body from their proximity, a gentle hum that spreads a trail of warmth, surging outwards and teeming beneath his skin. It’s intoxicating, and it’s a sensation that Daryun is unwilling to give up. 

 

He should push him away right now and maybe even reprimand him just a little; he _really_ should… but Daryun has always been weak against Narsus’ onslaught that usually occur whenever Daryun least expects it. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that they’ve been friends for so many years, or the way Narsus can capture and encage his heart with the smallest, most insignificant gestures – a genuine smile, a mildly crude joke – that he can never turn him down in moments like these.

 

“This,” Narsus replies easily, and he pulls Daryun down so they can meet, lips touching – soft and careful.

 

It isn’t long before the chaste kiss turns into something more urgent, the risk of being caught fueling them further: mouths parting in quiet gasps as Daryun nips at his lower lip, tearing a muffled moan from the other man as his fingers drag against the rough, sun-kissed skin of the Black Knight’s neck, leaving a trail of blooming red behind. Daryun shifts his hand to the small of Narsus’ back, drawing him impossibly close so that they’re sharing heat, and his other hand settles on the tactician’s cheek, fingers caressing the skin there with silent reverence, under the shadowed depression beneath his eye, along his delicate cheekbone.

 

The noises around them fade from their consciousness, the uncertainties and chaos of an oncoming war nothing but a distant blur for the brief moment as they allow themselves to dwell in each other’s company, their warm bodies and beating hearts a ceaseless memento for them to return alive.

 

“Daryun-dono!”

 

They break away from each other with a start, and Narsus takes a few steps back, breathing in deep, but the corner of his mouth is still curved upwards as he sends his best friend a knowing glance. Daryun merely turns his head away, but the flush on the tips of his ears is unmistakable. 

 

“Ah, Narsus-dono,” Kishward nods his greeting with a jovial grin, and Narsus returns the salutation without missing a beat. “What say we finalize our plans for tomorrow’s campaign over some breakfast?”

 

“Sounds good,” Narsus replies. The two men fall into steps behind Kishward as they make their way back to the center of the campsite.

 

Narsus reaches for Daryun’s hand then, loosely lacing their fingers together, and the knight is beginning to give him a warning glare, but Narsus only grins impishly at him, mouthing, “Let’s continue this afterwards.”

 

And he lets go.


End file.
